


Retour en Arrière

by Arithanas



Category: The Aristocats (1970)
Genre: F/M, french slang, la belle époque, old people being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Georges Hautecourt spends a night in town with her favorite friend.





	Retour en Arrière

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox/gifts).



> _Il vero amore non può essere trovato dove non esiste,_  
>  _ne può essere negato dove esiste._  
>  Torquato Tasso

Georges Hautecourt outstretched his hand to help the lovely Madame Bonfamille climb into the Delahaye. After years of refusing to ride with him in his fancy roadster, Adelaide had finally capitulated. Circumstances had changed. Because Edgar had vanished and the new staff was comprised of young girls without the necessary training, she had no one to drive her beloved barouche. Georges, being the gentleman he was, promised he wouldn't floor the Delahaye, instead of maintaining a prudent speed, while taking her to watch the new Gaumont film.

Adelaide wore the most wonderful violet satin, and her hair, as usual, was neatly pinned in a bun at the crown of her head. Under the brim of her hat, Marie's intense blue eyes regarded the old barrister haughtily. She was accompanying Adelaide tonight because Duchess had remained at home to play hostess for the new tenants of the Bonfamille household. Georges caressed the kitten’s raised chin with the handle of his cane, and he was amused by how the pink ribbon atop her head fluttered.

“Oh, Georges,” Madame said in her sternest tone as she paused in front of the vehicle. “Heaven knows, I’m only accepting this arrangement because I trust you with my life any day of the week.”

Georges tried to pull her weight inside the vehicle, but his arms weren’t as strong as when he was eighty. Discretely, he used the round part of his cane to force his ankylosed knees to bend. Adelaide also helped, taking a resolute step inside the vehicle. Marie, her balance disturbed by Georges’ tugging, sank her claws into her mistress’s collar.

“And I’ll hold it dearer than mine every day of the week. Except for Sundays, because I devote Sundays to the pleasures of the spirit,” Georges said as Adelaide took her place, “and I can’t spare a thought to those when I’m in your company, Adelaide.”

As she laughed, Georges kissed her hand which was covered with a delicate silk glove. The kiss covered the fact his blasted hip refused to let him sit just yet.

Marie leaned over and put her paw on the brim of Georges' hat as if she approved of the flattery.

“Please, Georges, don’t ever change.”

Georges felt his smile faltering as much as his old knees as Adelaide's words brought back memories.

“I still love you for the rascal you are, my dear Georges.”

***

The pavement beneath his shoes felt slippery after the short winter shower, and Georges did his best to use his cane to gain purchase. His war wound troubled him in this wet weather, especially after the whole day spent in his chair at monsieur Beaulieu’s office. His back hurt after those long hours writing on the back of his suitcase. He had not yet earned the right to his own modest desk.

Georges rested his weight on his cane and drew a gulp of cold air. His eyes, sharp and clear, surveyed the long street as he made his way to the place in Salpêtrière where she waited for him. He hadn't asked the girl why she insisted they must meet at _Au Chat Gris_ of all places, barely a stone's throw from that place filled to the brim with lost souls. If she had someone in the hospital, it would be impolite to ask and, if she was training to be a nurse, it would be insulting. It was better to let her explain why she needed a lawyer and why she was asking for ‘the cheapest one,’ in her own words. He resumed his walk to the location where that lovely girl was waiting for him.

The idea of having a girl waiting for him sounded like the funniest joke… Georges mumbled a dirty ditty as he crossed the doorway. There was the usual mob of hurried workers and clientele. The waiters moved with grace and speed between the packed tables, their neat white apron strings bouncing over the seat of their trousers. Georges took off his fingerless gloves with deliberate care and took another step in. His cane slipped on the floor, his huge feet tripped over each other, and his hands lost their grip on his battered suitcase.

The onlookers gasped. A waiter, quicker than the rest, caught Georges before he lost his balance completely. While Georges’ face was hidden from observers, he allowed himself a smile. Then he rearranged his features in an expected distressed expression.

People returned to their affairs as soon as the waiter cradled Georges against his wide chest with a concerned little smile, allowing Georges to regain his footing. Georges looked into the waiter’s eyes and felt the warmth spreading from his chest to his belly. This waiter had that round, firm chin and broad shoulders that always stirred that pleasant feeling, no matter if Georges noticed them in a trench or a pub. The waiter’s smile got stronger, and his hand lingered on Georges' hip.

“May I give you a hand, sir?” the waiter asked in a slow and caressing voice.

“Oh, please,” Georges replied, pressing his hand against that broad shoulder. “A gentle hand is what I need most right now.” Georges straightened up reluctantly but not before he slipped his calling card into the pocket of the waiter's apron with sleight of hand so often repeated that he no longer even thought about it.

“Here is your cane, sir.” The waiter’s smile didn’t falter. Georges was not sure if the waiter felt the touch of the back of Georges' hand against his crotch, but their fingers touched for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll get your briefcase.”

Georges rested his weight on his cane, made sure his gloves were in the pocket of his coat and took his briefcase. Once he had gotten his belongings,  Georges looked around. There she was, wearing the grey coat and red scarf they told him to look for. She stood by a table, looking uneasy and concerned at the same time. She looked so small and so helpless, but she'd told the clerk she was twenty-three. Georges felt a qualm of conscience about having indulged a naughty impulse when the girl needed his attention. He did his best to look sheepish as he approached her.

“This wet floor…” Georges mumbled by way of apology. “Please, sit, _mademoiselle_.”

“Thank you for meeting me, _monsieur_ …” She tried to extend her hand in a cordial greeting, but Georges, ill at ease with his own behavior, waved it away and rushed to the matter at hand.

“Of course, of course.” Georges took out his pen and unscrewed it deftly. “Now, you mentioned a letter… ”

As he extended his hand in a silent request, she produced a small missive written on good paper and with good black ink. During a quick perusal, Georges noticed the writer made mistakes common to the Russian men that roamed the streets of Paris when he was a boy playing at being a man.

“Is that new?” she asked in a curious tone as she pointed toward Georges' cane.

“What?” Georges asked, taking his eyes from the paper. His gaze fell on the handsome waiter who looked at him as if he were asking something but was shaking his calling card in a promising fashion. Georges broke into a big smile and addressed the waiter, “Coffee, please.”

Then he returned his attention to the girl and her question. “Oh, that? It’s an old gift from the Russians. Now, this letter seems to inform you about an agreement offered to certain descendants of your grandfather…” Georges paused and his expression became alight with ambition. “Congratulations, _mademoiselle_. I'm going to make you fantastically rich!”

***

The yellow Delahaye's engine sputtered and clicked as they crossed the Pont Neuf. Pedestrians turned to see the happy old couple bouncing in the hard seats. Some kids waved as they passed by, but the occupants of the car were in their own world.

Georges had managed to accelerate to 25 mph without alarming his dearest Adelaide. Marie, on the other hand, had run to sit on Madame’s lap at the first backfire and had been curling in Adelaide’s skirt for the duration of this harrowing adventure.

Georges turned to look at them before pulling the lever to feed more petrol to the engine.

Adelaide was laughing as she murmured sweet nothings to her scared, beloved cat. She always liked Adelaide’s laugh.

“Hang on to your hat, we're about to go really fast!”

***

A whole year had passed since their first meeting, and they no longer held their rendezvous near the Salpêtrière. She never explained the reason for the change, and he never asked why. Today, it was spring, and they were hanging around Place de la Bastille.

Georges rested his weight against the fence as he informed his client that all the t’s had been crossed and the i’s dotted. The girl was standing next to him, eating an apple. Her eyes remained cast down as she listened to the litany of procedures, documents, and conferences this harried lawyer apprentice had undertaken on her behalf. Georges toyed with his cane as he explained the conditions that her estranged—royal, Russian—family were demanding.

“But I have never had anything to do with these people!”

She had grown so tall during that last year; her hair had grown darker. Her sweetness, however, had not changed at all. Georges smiled at her beauty and felt a little pang of anticipated loss. In these last months, he had found himself falling deeply for her in a way of which he hadn't thought himself capable.

“More to the point,” Georges said, fixing his eyes on her to avoid them wandering about the mob of workers exiting the Metropolitan. “They are willing to provide you the opportunity to train that beautiful voice of yours if you go to Moscow for five years. _ Sapristi! _ You’ll want for nothing if you go with them. It’s not like you have anyone to keep you here, is it?”

She turned her eyes in the direction of the river. From the way her lips trembled and her eyes seemed to focus on nothing at all, it was clear that she was hiding something. Slowly, she turned to him, and the line of her lips softened.

“I was hoping... _someone_ might forbid me to go.”

“We have discussed this, my girl.” Georges leaned forward, extending his hand to caress her cheek. “I love you, but I'm your attorney, and it would not be ethical for me to ask you to stay in Paris. Why should a shyster like me be allowed to rob a princess like you of her future?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him with the desperation of a drowning person.

“Besides,” Georges whispered into her hair, wanting her to hear but also hoping desperately that she couldn't, “I’m sure your cup of happiness will never be full if you stay by my side.”

“Don’t say that, my beloved Georges!” she pleaded, sobbing into the lapels of his threadbare coat. “I’ll go with them if you promise to wait for me. You must give me your word!”

“I won’t marry anyone but you.” Georges meant every word. “By my honor, I won’t.”

She fixed her dark eyes on him as if she couldn’t believe his words. With care, with his ink-stained fingers, Georges caressed her chin before kissing her with more tenderness than passion.

***

The Delahaye spluttered one last time, and its tailpipe spewed a cloud of greasy fumes. Marie mewed her displeasure,  complaining pitifully to Madame. They had arrived at Les Buttes more or less in one piece.

“Oh, Marie,” Adelaide exclaimed, pressing the kitten against her cheek, “what a horrible quarter of hour Georges has put you through!”

Georges’ smile was so big that his eyes nearly disappeared beneath his thick eyebrows, as he pulled off his driving gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. Only then, he did descend with shaky steps to offer Adelaide his frail arm. She gathered her long skirt and stepped down. Georges looked at Marie, and he could almost swear the cat had stuck out her tiny, pink tongue at him. Sure that his brain was playing tricks on him, Georges chuckled.

“I think we have arrived early,” Georges commented, using his cane to close the door. “We should be able to find good seats.”

“But, Georges, we have seats reserved…”

There was a reason why Georges had planned to arrive early to the exhibition, but discussing it with Adelaide was a waste of time. They walked the street with care required by their long years on earth — Adelaide trying not to rest too much weight on his arm and Georges trying to match his stride to her speed.

“It never hurts to be early, does it?”

Before she could answer, Georges had extended his cane to pull open the big door under the yellow brick arch and let her go inside. Adelaide straightened her back, let her shawl hang from her arms. As she turned her head slightly to the right, Georges saw the Diva arrive. Where his beloved Adelaide had stood was the equally beloved Madame Bonfamille.

With her head high and her cat on her shoulder, Adelaide Bonfamille crossed the threshold and was greeted by a chorus of friends and admiring strangers. Georges followed her inside, ready to bask in her pleasure at being loved.

***

Georges put his left hand behind his head and read the letter again in the light of the street gas lamp. He was not daunted by the prospect of a long, difficult trial at the behest of a woman he hadn’t seen in seven years. As usual, she hadn’t explained her reasons to change her name, and he would surely won’t waste ink asking for them.

Under the faint gaslight, he closed his eyes and reveled on the marvelous news that letter carried.

She had made her debut in Russia.

The red drapes of the Imperial Mariinsky Theatre bundled up the newly born diva and that should have been such a spectacle.

Georges Hautecourt would give his good leg to have heard her sing the Antonida aria.

“You are smiling,” the man by Georges' side remarked as his hand ran mischievously under the ratty comforter.

“I have my reasons,” Georges replied distractingly. His eyes still dancing over the new name that little girl had chosen for herself, wondering if the misspelling was intentional.

“But those reasons are not me,” he replied before his hand took hold. “I’ll give you a good reason to smile.”

“With my blessings, dear boy…” Georges replied as he folded the letter as neatly as possible. He would put the letter with the other couple of dozens of letters that he kept over his wardrobe.

The young bricklayer snorted as if he cared little about such blessings. The little worker pouted, and his shoulders shuddered as if he was about to throw a tantrum.  Then, doubly spurred by desire and by the challenge, he dived under the comforter and got to work.

Georges hummed happily as the young man raised his spirit, but, even at the height of his pleasure, Georges knew no foundation had been laid to make this brief dalliance as solid as the one between him and Adelaide Bonfamille.

***

Georges sat through the _Gaumont Actualités_ with feigned interest. His interest in the affairs of the world had waned considerably once he added another decade to his age. Instead, laying his hat upon his knees, he tried to amuse Marie.

The kitty had tried twice to stand up on the back of the seat in front of them, but the chair's occupant was not keen to let the cute cat do a parrot impression. Twice, Marie had complained with a pitiful mew, but Madame only spared her a distracted pat on her head. Adelaide’s eyes were focused on the flickering images.

Georges put his hat on top of his cane and moved it closer to his friend’s skirt. Marie tried to ignore it, but Georges shook his knee. The battered hat danced, and Marie turned her attention toward it. Georges smiled at his success when the kitty pawed at it cautiously and made it dance again.  

Feuillade could eat his heart out. Marie playing with a hat was a better show than all of his melodramas.

Georges looked up, but Adelaide was too engrossed in the screen to pay too much attention to them. The vacillating light of the projector made her beautiful features stand out. Her smile was wide, and her eyes shone almost as much as the pearl collar around her neck. Her hands flew to her chest in a clear sign of admiration on cue with the dramatic music.

“You made it, my gorgeous Adelaide,” Georges muttered and shaking his cane again. “Your life is what you planned to be and I’m still here, happy to bear witness.”

The kitty stopped playing with the hat and stared at him. Georges gave her a smile and a careful pat. Marie’s indignant mew got lost in the roaring laughter that filled the cinema salon.

***

Georges, his cane hanging from his arm, guided Adelaide through the dance floor. Her body was warm and light, and it was so different from all the experiences he had accrued during his reckless years of gallant adventures, but Georges never felt another body fit so right in his arms.

Adelaide was radiant in her triumph, and he had never been prouder of anything in his life. That is, if he could take a bit of credit for the transformation of that slim girl into this gorgeous diva. Probably not, but it was a nice thing to think of.

Ten years ago, that girl had made the right decision for herself and she had traveled far and wide. Now, she was reaping laurels and perfecting her art in the land that saw her birth. He was just the man who had handled her papers and managed her legal needs.

“Ah, Georges! You are my oldest and dearest friend.” Adelaide said, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “There was a time when you gave me your word…”

“Adelaide, I’m perfectly happy with what you are holding against me, please don’t add anything else!”

Adelaide laughed, and Georges took the chance to spin her off the dance floor. At his age, his legs were not as strong as they used to be. Adelaide, with all the fine manners she had learned while she was away, understood the cue. They passed by a server and Adelaide took a flute of champagne without sparing him a second glance. Georges did exactly the opposite, but this time the impertinent servant turned his nose up with disdain when he took his drink.

Adelaide had found a little, secluded corner by the window, next to a table with a vase filled with a bouquet of wild orchids. She sat there with abandon, the long train of her dress put across her knees. That furled fabric let him a glimpse of the most shapely ankles encased in a pair of button-up boots.

“Ah, the pleasures of youth are so fleeting…!” Georges lamented as he sat by her side.

“Don’t say that, Georges,” Adelaide chided in a mocking tone as she touched his arm with her fan. “You are a young man still, and a handsome one, to boot.”

“You are ever so kind, my beloved Adelaide.”

“I love to hear my name in your voice, Georges,” she touched his chin with the fan and the smile in her face waned. “You are single, too.”

“I only have one word,” Georges averted his eyes to take a sip. The champagne tasted bitter in his mouth. “And I gave it to you.”

“I know,” Adelaide touched his arm. “I almost wrote to you about it a thousand times, but it didn’t feel right. Old friends like us deserve better than a couple of lines jotted down on paper.”

Georges sighed and swirled the champagne inside his glass. “Your heart found someone else's…”

“Oh, no! No, my dear friend,” Adelaide recovered her hand and used it to hold her cup in her lap. “What’s the use of a lie among us? I have let my heart follow some fleeting fancies while I was abroad, but they all crashed against hard reality.”

Georges crossed his bad leg over his good knee. There was a tinge of deep sadness in Adelaide’s voice, and he felt a sudden pang inside his chest. He couldn’t bear the sight of an unhappy Adelaide.

“There will never be anyone, man or woman, able to give me the pleasure music provides so lavishly,” Adelaide admitted with a deep sigh before placing her glass in the nearby table. “Not even you, Georges. I don’t want to marry. I have no use for marriage.” She took his hands into hers and squeezed them gently before looking him in the eye. “I release you from your vow.”

“Adelaide…” Georges gulped. He was free to be the man he had always been, but he wasn’t happy. “Are you resigning yourself to spinsterhood? Planning for a gloomy old age? You, you will settle for solitude?”

“I’m planning to spend my old age surrounded by exquisite beauty, old friends, extraordinary literature and _joie de vivre_. I want to be a patron of the arts and to be happy.” She broke into a big smile at her imagined future, and Georges felt the warm wave of pleasure rush through his chest again. “I don’t need a husband to enjoy all of that, Georges; maybe a cat, but not a husband!”

“But what about the pleasures of the marital bed…?”

“That’s what I discovered about myself in my time away: those are a phantasmagoria I can’t believe. Chinese shadows that can’t give me anything of substance. I refuse to be enslaved by them anymore.”

Georges smiled and let his eyes down for a second, then he looked at her, ready to confess up his own desires. Her hands in his were warm and they gave Georges strength.

“I happen to love those Chinese shadows.”

“Oh?”

Georges turned his head and Adelaide followed his eyes. Georges looked at the cluster of young rakes that stood aside, waiting for their new conquest.

“Oh!” Adelaide exclaimed and recovered her hands to cover her mouth.

She was so beautiful, and the heart inside him loved her still - even if it tightened without warning at her reaction. For a brief second, Georges was afraid Adelaide would disown him, but then she started giggling behind her hands.

Georges let her laugh and took a sip of his champagne flute.

“Oh, Georges, I never would have guessed you were an _aunt_!” Adelaide exclaimed, hitting him teasingly in the arm with her fan.

“Well, I’m more of an uncle, but I can be an aunt if my _beau-du-jour_ insists enough.”

“You are a cad, my dearest friend!”

Georges shook his head laughing. Good-humored ribbing seemed to be the right way to go, and he submitted to it gladly, for it meant Adelaide accepted him. His world was complete and shining again. The champagne left a taste like liquid honey in his mouth.

When their laughter was spent, Adelaide took his face between her hands and looked at him for a long moment. Georges looked into her dark eyes as if he could drown in them.

“It’s like I have never seen you before,” Adelaide said in a whisper, her thumb caressed him. “I’m meeting you for the first time. I love you, Georges Hautecourt, just as you are.”

Tears stung Georges' eyes something awful, and he blinked furiously to keep them from spilling.

“I love you, Adelaide,” he muttered with a galling lump in his throat. “I will love you for the rest of my life.”

She smiled and forced him to bow his head to put a kiss on his broad brow.

“Let’s dance a bit more, Georges.”

“Let’s dance the night away!” Georges replied, springing to his feet and extending his hand. His cane was already hanging from the crook of his arm.

Georges was sure he could dance the century away with Adelaide Bonfamille in his arms.

***

“Dedadoa di dadududa…” Georges hummed and kicked his heels against the pavement as he guided Adelaide to his Delahaye.

“It was a wonderful night,” Adelaide said, keeping Marie under her hat. “Thank you so much, Georges.”

“It was my pleasure. My pleasure, indeed.” Georges agreed, resting his weight in the cane for a moment. “To make it perfect I just need to get you home safe and sound.”

Georges restarted his walk mumbling a dirty ditty. His wide smile was full of pride. Adelaide walked by his side, but her face was more serene, as if the night out had taken its toll on her. Georges patted the gloved hand resting in his arm with affection. In times like these, Georges had to admit that they were not young anymore, and they may as well begin to feel the fir’s perfume.

This sad train of thought was cut short. A young couple had taken the hood of his roadster for the perfect place to share some cuddles. That sort of inconvenience was common these days, and Georges shook his head in disbelief, but the smile didn’t disappear from his aged face.

Adelaide noticed them too, and her posture got stiff, yet she didn’t break her stride. Her head was held high and she composed a careless expression. Georges nodded at her and proceeded without any care.

“Good evening,” Georges greeted them and used his cane to open the door. “Are you having a good time?”

“ _Lardonpem?_ ” The young man asked.

The hair at the nape of Georges’ neck stood up. That badly constructed language boded ill for them.

“It’s time for you to find a better place to canoodle, my children…”

As Adelaide stepped inside the vehicle, he surveyed the young ones. The girl sported a slashed skirt that covered not only what the good God had graced her with, but the hand of her beau too. The young man held an unlit, battered Gauloises between his dry lips. With a tired sigh, Georges conceded in his heart of hearts that time was powerful enough to strip the romance from the lower ranks of society.

“Please remove yourselves from my property,” Georges requested as he waited for Adelaide to take her seat. This situation would be managed better if she was placed in the safest spot. “We want to be on our way.”

The girl spat a rude remark in a whisper as she fluffed the kerchief around her boyfriend’s throat. Georges caught the meaning but not the word. The boy turned the cigarette in his mouth using his tongue. There was a glint of cruelty in his eyes as he approached Georges. His stride was full of pride and anger, and the outline of his biceps showed in the threadbare fabric of his coat. Georges felt a sudden surge of pity for him and all the lost youngsters of this wonderful, unjust Paris.   

“You must pay for _le lervicessem, leusieumik_ ,” the young man said, his fist resting on his hip.

“Haven’t your mother taught you to speak our beautiful language, my son?”

The man extended his hands and tried to get hold of Georges' lapels. “You don’t…”

Georges took a step back and raised his cane. “Yes, I do, my boy.”

The crooked end of the cane crashed against the nose of the young man first, then the straight end landed heavily on his left foot. The word that left the young vandal’s lip was not meant to be heard in polite company. Georges pulled his cane behind his back waiting for another attack.

Behind him, the girl gripped the door, but Adelaide slapped the offending hand with her fan with enough force to split the dainty wood of the guard. The girl cursed as much as the boy had, but her greedy fingers advanced towards Adelaide's string of pearls.

The young man bled from his nose. He rushed in. Georges hit him in the knee first with the cane, then with his foot. Adelaide tried to block the hand with her broken fan and succeeded by a narrow margin. Marie sprang from her shoulder, claws first. Georges, to be sure the man wouldn’t be trouble anymore, poked him in the stomach several times.

" _Allez vous remuer la ligbé au lukesse, loufoque!_ " The man said, sounding retreat and giving the old lawyer wide berth.

The girl followed his lead, fighting Marie in desperation. Marie was making sure she would never set foot in the streets again without a generous application of makeup.

" _Lerfem ta leulgue, lonkesse!_ " Georges shouted back in the younger man's language to make sure he understood.

They started for the corner, but not before a white ball of fluff hit the bricks and ran back toward the roadster. Georges spared her short legs the trip and met her halfway. With shaking knees, he bent down and picked her up. His fingers smoothed her fur with care, more for his own sake than for the sake of the pet.

“What a wild beast you can be when you set your mind to it, lovely Marie.” Georges praised the cat and turned his back to the corner. “Now, let us comfort Madame. She must be scared.”

Adelaide was standing inside the Delahaye, her hand against her chest in the immemorial gesture of worry, but as soon as Georges came to her, she opened her arms to receive her precious cat. For a heartbeat, Georges was sure she was about to sing an aria, but laughter fell from her mouth instead.

“Welcome back, my heroes!”

“Adelaide, I hope they didn’t scare you,” Georges said, handing Marie over.

“I never feel fear, Georges,” Adelaide commented and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “No, not when you are taking care of me.”

Georges smiled as if he were still that young law student she met at _Au Chat Gris_ one rainy winter afternoon. His hands surely weren’t shaking when the cat jumped from them.

“May I have the honor to drive you home, _Madame_?”

“Of course, _monsieur Hautecourt_ ,” Adelaide said snuggling with her mewing chaperone inside the roadster. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Georges ran to the other side, ready to do her bidding.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was under the care of three soon-to-be-named betas, any outstanding error it's mine, and also, may thanks to TexasDreamer01 for their help with those pesky hover message mistakes.


End file.
